His response was a quiet hum as he nudged my bedroom door open with his foot. My back hit the mattress as he hovered over me, his eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion.

“Let’s watch a movie,” I suggested breathlessly, expecting him to argue but knowing he would cave if I picked Clueless.

Blake let out a quiet groan and buried his face in my neck. “No, no, no, no,” he mumbled, already melting into sleep. “Just want to lay with you until I pass out.”

I should have let him. But instead, an idea sparked to life, curling around my ribs like something dangerous.

Smirking to myself, I ran my hand through his hair, the soft strands slipping through my fingertips, tugging lightly just to hear the sound he made when I did. “I have a better idea.”

Blake lifted his head slightly, his lips grazing my collarbone. “Yeah?”

He made a small noise of protest as I wiggled out of his grip, but he let me go, watching through half-closed eyes as I reached for my nightstand. My fingers wrapped around the paperback I had taken on our trip to Mexico—the same one he had stolen just to mock me, reading passages aloud in a terrible voice.

I waved it at him with a wink.

Blake’s eyes flickered with recognition. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“B, come on.”

“What’s wrong, Blake? You were so eager to read it last time,” I reminded him sweetly, shifting onto my side and making sure to keep the book visible between us.

He rubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Because I was making fun of it.”

“Well, then let’s see if you find it funny now,” I challenged, flipping through the pages.

With a long, exasperated sigh, he sank deeper into the pillows, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“Where were we?” I mused, skimming over the words, pretending I wasn’t already thinking about the parts I wanted to read out loud. The ones I secretly hoped he’d take as instruction.

Clearing my throat, I started to read.

“She felt a rush of anticipation as he led her to the bed, his hands firm yet gentle as he carefully lowered her onto the soft sheets.”

I stole a quick glance at Blake, trying to read his reaction.

His fingers flexed against the pillow, as if he was weighing the option of grabbing the book and tossing it across the room. But he didn’t. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling, feigning boredom, though the quickening rise and fall of his chest betrayed him. He was listening, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he wasn’t.

I grinned inwardly, knowing he’d catch on soon enough; Blake was far too perceptive not to pick up on the hint.

“She shivered,” I went on, “as he traced slow, torturous lines along her leg, as though he had all the time in the world.”